


Of Broken Cups

by Selkiessong



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Tysha POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkiessong/pseuds/Selkiessong
Summary: In chapter 23 of "Hold on Love, We're Still Fighting" Tyrion tells Jaime about a kitchen maid named Tysha. Here, Tysha tells her story.This ficlet was inspired by several reviews.





	Of Broken Cups

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hold on Love, We're Still Fighting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090999) by [Selkiessong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkiessong/pseuds/Selkiessong). 



> This may not be for Tyrion lovers as it portrays his actions in very gray terms. More importantly it's Tysha telling her side.

   Tysha spends the nights of her first weeks as a maid in the kitchen of Casterly Rock crying herself to sleep. Taking over most of the work in her family’s cottage to allow her mother more time to take in laundry had not prepared her for the intensity of her new workload. Her hands and arms cramp from the peeling and the slicing and the mashing and the stirring, her back hurts from constantly bending and carrying, and her feet are swollen from being stood on for over fifteen hours. More than that, she is fifteen and homesick for her family. Mrs. Hill, the cook at Casterly Rock, runs her kitchen with a fair hand, but she is not her mother.

   As the weeks go by Tysha grows accustomed to life in the kitchen of a large house. She’s grateful for the two years she spent in her family’s kitchen as it means she can work under Mrs. Hill’s stern but kind gaze, and not as a housemaid who would be constantly in Lady Baratheon’s critical sight during her too frequent visits. She is also far beneath the notice of Lord Lannister himself. All in all, life can be a lot worse. She’s close enough to her family that she can visit on her half days, and sometimes bring her little brothers and sisters leftover treats. But the best thing is when her mother smiles proudly when she sees Tysha’s hands. They’re no longer that of a little girl, but a hardworking woman with callouses and scars from accidental cuts and burns.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   She wouldn’t have thought so, but after a year she sees the wisdom in her parents’ insistence that she stay in school an extra year beyond what the law requires. She’s quicker to finish sums in her head when she reads a recipe, and she writes with a faster and neater hand than many others. Mrs. Hill smiles approvingly at her and sets her to baking which she enjoys far more than peeling and cutting vegetables. It’s hotter work, but it’s not nearly as dull and she can see where all her work goes when she’s done.

   Tysha’s heard stories about employer’s children seducing the help, but she always thought she was safe. Why wouldn’t she? The only member of the family she ever sees in Lord Jaime who sometimes sneaks in and charms a cookie out of Mrs. Hill, but she doesn’t think he notices her besides for saying ‘thank-you’ once or twice. Well, the time she added cinnamon to the batter, he said it was very good, but he didn’t know it was her idea. She does though, and she feels like she can fly.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  It all starts with a broken teacup. She’s very careful, but accidents happen, and she knows it will come out of her wages. She’s thinking glumly that at least it’s not the very expensive set when small hands take the broken pieces from her, and she finds herself face to face with Lord Tyrion, the younger Lannister brother.

   He is a dwarf, but he’s not as hideous as the gossips make him out. He asks why she’s sad, and she tells him that she’ll need to pay for the teacup. He says that she’s too pretty to look so sad, and that he’ll pay for the cup. When she protests, he says that he’ll hear no more about it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   If she knew what would happen, she would have gone straight to Mrs. Hill and insisted on paying; but she doesn’t.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   “Your name’s Tysha isn’t it?” Two months later Lord Tyrion is loitering around the kitchen again while she works.

   “Yes, milord,” she answers cautiously wondering what on earth has brought him to the kitchen. Doesn’t he know it’s highly improper for him to be speaking with her?

   “Well then, Tysha,” he says with a winning smile and eyes like a little puppy, “would you be so kind as to ask Mrs. Hill to make a vanilla pudding for dinner tomorrow?”

   He leaves as she stares at his retreating back, not at all sure what to make of his request. Not only does she not remember any preference on anyone’s part towards vanilla pudding, but if he wanted to put in a request why on earth would he be asking her? It was certainly not her place to tell Mrs. Hill what to make for meals. What was she supposed to do now? In the end she decides that perhaps he’s playing a prank on her. Anyway, they’ve already started on dessert for dinner tomorrow and it isn’t vanilla pudding.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   “Beauteous Tysha.”

   “I don’t know what that means, milord.” One week later and Lord Tyrion is back with the same puppy dog eyes.

   “It means I find you beautiful,” he says, and she almost drops the bowl. What has she done that he would say that to her?

   “Thank you, milord, but I shouldn’t be so familiar. I know my place, and it’s here.”

   “It’s because I’m an imp isn’t it?” he says sadly, and she feels so sorry that she doesn’t think as she should.

   “No, milord. I don’t care about that. But I could lose my job if anyone were to find out, and I can’t do that.”

   “I see,” he says slowly, and she thinks that it can’t be easy for him, so she doesn’t tell anyone and goes back to kneading.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  For one blessed month she’s left in peace. Lord Tyrion doesn’t visit the kitchens, she sees her family on her half-days, and she trades work with a friend. She does extra chores for two weeks and in exchange her good white blouse is the recipient of some lovely black embroidery. She’s won’t be seventeen for a few months yet, but she’s hasn’t grown in a year, so it’s a good investment.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Then little bunches of flowers start being left around where she usually works. There isn’t any note attached so she shrugs and thinks it’s probably one of the hall boys, and once they see that their gifts are ignored they’ll find someone else to spend their pence on. She’s very careful to never give anyone cause to gossip, and the flowers look nice on the table in the servants’ hall anyway. The only problem is that the little bunches keep coming, and they start becoming bigger and not the sort of flowers that you buy in the market until one not-quite morning she finds Lord Tyrion setting a bunch down.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   “Lord Tyrion,” she says trying to be brave, “why are you leaving flowers in the kitchen?”

   “Beauteous Tysha,” he says bright eyed, and she feels her heart drop into her stomach. She should have paid for the cup. “I brought you these tokens of my esteem.”

   “I’m sorry,” she says dumbly, “but, please, milord. Please I’ll be sent out, they’ll say I’m acting above my place.” She’ll never find another respectable job, she thinks wildly. The best she’ll be able to hope for is a workhouse, and her family!

   “Nonsense,” he says. “Once you’re my wife, you won’t need to work.”

   _Wife?!_

   “I can’t,” she says franticly. Marriage? Between the lord’s son and a kitchen maid? “I can’t marry you!”

   “I thought it didn’t matter to you, Tysha, you said it didn’t,” and he sounds so _hurt_ , “You said you didn’t care that I was a dwarf.”

   “I don’t, I don’t care about that, but you’re the lord’s son and I’m just a kitchen maid! I’m not even old enough to marry.”

   “But you won’t always be,” he says, and it would be sweet if she wasn’t so frightened. She thought she would be safe hidden away in the kitchen, and now she doesn’t know what to do. It’s obvious to her that somehow Lord Tyrion fancies the two of them in love and means to make her his wife, and she cannot begin to imagine what the consequences will be. Finally, she decides to go to Mrs. Hill with her story. So far, nothing has happened, nothing beside for a broken teacup and some flowers, and she has no choice but to throw herself on the older woman’s mercy.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   That night Mrs. Hill has the whole sorry tale from her. She’s ashamed of crying her way through the interview, but at least the woman is more than convinced that it’s impossible for her to have planned any of it. After she’s done, Mrs. Hill mutters darkly something about Old Lord Tytos before telling her that she isn’t the first girl that a lord’s son has flattered and she won’t be the last. As it happens, she has an old friend who is shorthanded and would welcome a well-trained maid. It’s two counties away and she won’t see her family on her half days anymore; but Tysha is lucky, and she knows it. She could be out with no reference.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Tysha has always tried to make the best of things. Unlike Lord Lannister her new employers entertain often, which means she works harder but she also gains more skills. She misses her family; but here the husband is too besotted with his wife to so much as look at another woman, and the worst trouble that the sons can get her in is when they hide from their nanny in the kitchen. Mrs. Stone is just like her friend, Mrs. Hill, and slowly Tysha begins to feel at home.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   When Mrs. Stone calls her to the pantry after she finishes separating eggs for lemon meriunge pie, she worries that she has bad news from home. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Lord Tyrion looking up at her looking relived of all things.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   “Tysha,” he says brightly as though they are not standing in a pantry, and she doesn’t have egg whites to beat, “why did you leave?”

   “Lord Tyrion,” she can see Mrs. Stone watching them and feels a bit better. A cook is less then a lord’s son but more than a kitchen maid. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

   “You left Tysha,” he says slowly as though she isn’t very smart. “Of-course I came to find you. You said you didn’t care about my being a dwarf.”

   “But I had to leave,” she says feeling as though the two of them are no longer speaking the same language. “I would have been dismissed without any references.”

   “But love, Tysha,” he says earnestly. “What about love?”

   “Love is a wonderful thing,” she agrees wondering again what she did to bring this on herself, “but love won’t fill my belly, put a roof over my head, or clothes on my back. I need coin for that.”

   Lord Tyrion jerks back as though she had reached out and struck him, and she’s sorry about that, but it’s the truth.

   “Coin,” he says quietly, his eyes turning as hard and cold as she always imagined Lord Lannister’s to be, and she takes a step back. “You value coin then. Like a whore.” And she can barely breathe. A whore? He thinks she’s a whore?

   “That’s quite enough,” Mrs. Stone’s firm voice says from somewhere, and Tysha could cry with gratitude. “Tysha, those eggs won’t beat themselves. Lord Tyrion, I think your business here is done.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   As she beats her eggs a little harder and faster than she normally would Tysha forces herself not to think of Lord Tyrion. She is not a whore.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> How was?


End file.
